


While at a Room

by DragonxFox



Series: Can't Ignore [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonxFox/pseuds/DragonxFox





	While at a Room

When he wakes, Dean starts from the bed. It’s empty, as is the room, and he reaches under the pillow, grasping at nothing, as the door opens. He rolls from the bed, holding himself in a crouch, as Sam comes in holding two cups of coffee and a bag of donuts.

"Dean," Sam calls, putting everything on the table farthest from the beds. His eyes land on his brother almost immediately and he gives Dean a faint smile. "Hey, man," he says, turning away as Dean gets to his feet. "You hungry?"

Dean shakes his head, walking towards his brother cautiously as he grabs one of the coffee cups.

"How long you been up?"

Sam shrugs, easy, as if last night hadn’t happened, and nudges Dean’s shoulder with his own.

"Shower’s mine," he says, grabbing his duffel off the floor and heading to the bathroom.

Dean’s shoulders sag a little as the water comes on and he rubs a hand over his face. He still can’t get the image of his brother - Sam, Sammy - pressing their bodies together, of having Sam’s mouth on his, out of his head by the time Sam comes out. But he’s eaten all the donuts and finished his coffee so he counts that as a win.

"Dude," Sam says with a frown, wearing the same shirt from last night with different jeans. "Time for some laundry."

"Yeah," Dean nods, rubbing at the back of his neck as he grabs his own duffel and heads to the bathroom himself. "Sounds good."

He turns the water on as hot as it can go, hoping to wash himself of his brother’s scent. He brushes his teeth with a vengeance, too, hating the way his face flushes in the fogged up mirror every time his mind wanders to the feel of Sam’s hands - big and warm - on his skin, keeping him close.

And by the time he’s finally out of the water, Sam’s sitting on the bed - the one that no one used last night - with his elbows on his knees, staring emptily ahead.

"Dean, I-"

"Come on," Dean says, grabbing the Impala’s keys as he opens the motel door, "Clothes aren’t gonna wash themselves."

They stop at the first Laundromat they can find. The tension between them growing uncomfortably with each glance Sam throws his way. But Dean’s good at this, he can keep last night buried under the list of things to Not Talk About.

"We should be there by nightfall," he says, tossing a bag of chips at Sam. "You think your girly bladder can handle that for once?"

The bitchface he gets makes him grin from ear to ear and Sam scoffs.

"You know I’m not going to drop this, right?"

Dean opens his bag of chips, sitting on the counter. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy.” He doesn’t bother to keep his mouth closed as he pops the first chip into his mouth.

Things stay tense on the drive, but Dean just cranks the music up, loud as it can go, and sings off-key until even the sun’s glaring at him in the rearview mirror.

"Come on," Dean grumbles, "Sam, will you cut the moping already?" But Sam doesn’t reply and Dean sighs. "Just bein’ a big freakin’ baby, geez."

His foot lands heavily on the gas and stays that way for the next two hours. He isn’t surprised that they make it to Wisconsin almost an hour ahead of time and the first thing he does is check them into a motel.

There’s a newspaper in his hand and his Dad’s journal on his bed almost immediately. Sam, on the other hand, keeps flipping through the motel’s limited channels.

"You gonna help at all?"

"Doesn’t seem like you need it."

The channel flips again and Dean tosses the newspaper onto the bed. “I’ll be back late,” he announces, shrugging on his jacket. “Don’t wait up.”

Except he doesn’t make it two steps out before he’s being pulled back in. His back hits the wall and the door slams shut, Sam’s angry face staring down at him as he pushes off the wall, shoulders squared and fists clenched.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

"Me?" Dean yells, shoving Sam away from him. "You’re not the one who just got manhandled back into the room."

Sam grabs the lapels of Dean’s jacket and pushes him further into the room. Dean’s fist comes at him of their own accord and suddenly, they’re dodging each other’s blows. Dean misses, but just barely, and Sam’s freakishly long arms wind themselves around Dean’s middle as he tackles him to the closest bed. They don’t exactly make it, winding up on the floor instead.

"You can’t do this," Sam grunts, trying to pin Dean under him.

But Dean’s not having any of that. His elbow gets Sam in the gut and his other hand latches onto his too-long hair, forcing his brother to roll. Once on top, he hits Sam.

It’s not the strongest blow he’s ever given, not by a longshot, but seeing Sam’s head bounce off the floor gives him pause and he moves, grabbing his disoriented brothers hands and keeping them above his head while Sam bucks beneath him.

"I don’t know," Dean growls, "what your problem is, but it’s gotta stop."

"My problem," Sam hisses, still trying to free himself, "is you."

Sam plants his feet on the ground, pulling at his hands as he bucks his hips, lifting Dean just enough for them to tussle again. It’s downright dirty, the way they try to get each other in lock positions. Yet neither is using their full force and the restraint they need to use for that tires them more than if they’d been going all out in the first place.

"What did you expect?" Sam asks once he’s finally got Dean under him again. "Because this," he says, sitting on Dean’s naval and rubbing himself back to Dean’s crotch, "isn’t something to ignore."

"Sam," Dean warns, feeling the same panic from last night crawl up his throat. "You can’t - I can’t-"

But when Sam leans forward, putting more pressure on Dean’s wrists, lips hovering above his, the fight drains out of him. And still, Sam doesn’t close the maddening distance between them.

They’re breathing each other’s air, Dean’s fingers twitching uselessly as Sam pushes his ass more firmly down on Dean’s crotch.

"Tell me," Sam says, lips grazing Dean’s with every word. "You gotta tell me."

And Dean, yeah, Dean’s going to hell alright. Because he bites Sam’s bottom lip as he surges forward. Sam groans the moment he does, keeping Dean’s hands pinned as he moves until Dean’s hips bracket his own.

A hot flush of shame and want course through Dean as his dick starts taking interest. There’s no alcohol in either of them. No adrenaline from a hunt or anything that could ease the guilt clawing its way to the front of his mind, but Sam’s tongue is in his mouth and he wants. God, he wants so much that a noise that could almost - almost, not quite - be called a moan escapes him when Sam grinds their hips together again.

He can feel Sam. Can feel all of him as Sam keeps up the slow grind of his hips, completely at odds with the way his hands keep tightening on Dean’s wrists and the awful way he’s ploundering Dean’s mouth.

"Dean."

Dean’s eyes snap open at that, at the feel of Sam stopping everything so suddenly and he groans, head lightly bouncing off the motel floor in the sudden silence.

"Don’t be a tease," he snaps, pulling at Sam’s grip and gasping when Sam’s hold tightens. He feels a new flush stain his cheeks as he tests Sam’s new hold, smiling and licking his lips while his little brother continues wasting time staring at him."I get all tingly when you take control like that, Sammy."

It’s all the push Sam needs, apparently, because he’s being yanked up, forced to stand for all of two seconds before Sam’s shoving him onto the bed. The breath in his lungs leaves him as his body bounces from the impact. And he’s getting real tired of being pushed around, but Sam’s hands are on his wrists again and his brain flatlines on him.

"I know," Sam breathes, nudging Dean’s legs apart so that he can fit between them. "I know just what you need, Dean."

And that, right there, is the exact moment Dean gives it all up. Because there’s no one, not even his Dad - who would kill him if he knew - who knows Dean better than his little Sammy.

Sam transfers Dean’s wrists to one hand and wastes no time in using his free one to pull at Dean’s clothes. Pushing the layers out of the way until his hand is skimming Dean’s stomach.

"Sam, I-"

But Sam isn’t having any of that. His mouth leaving a hot trail down Dean’s neck as his hand finds a nipple, twisting it as he nips at Dean, reducing Dean to a string of curses as he pinches and pulls at the hardening bud.

Dean’s basically writhing beneath him, wanting to touch, to feel Sam come undone the same way Sam’s destroying him, but Sam’s not letting go. His teeth clamp down on the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder as he switches to the other nipple.

"Fuck," Dean rasps, hips bucking up, desperately seeking more friction. "Sam, come on. Sammy, I need, shit, man, just-"

"Shh," Sam whispers, tightening his hold on Dean’s wrists again, pressing them more firmly into the mattress. "Keep them there, ok?"

Dean nods, his entire focus on keeping his hands there as Sam’s wander down his body, unbuttoning his jeans and freeing him from the restraints of both his jeans and boxers in one go.

"God, Dean. You gotta let me, ok? Need this. Need you."

And Dean, always looking out for what his brother wants and needs, can’t help the wretched noise that comes out of him when his brother wraps his giant hand around his cock.

"Been wanting this for so long," he says, slowly jacking Dean, thumbing at the head and spreading precome around before lowering himself. It’s only when Dean can feel Sam’s breath on his cock that he understands why his brothers lips aren’t on his anymore and by then, Sam’s got the tip in his mouth.

"Jesus, fuck!"

But Sam just licks at him from base to tip, over and over again until there’s enough spit to make it a smooth glide and Dean’s gripping the sheets above his head, trying so desperately, to keep himself from coming. From letting go of the sheets and tangling them in Sam’s hair.

Because he needs to come almost as badly as he needs all this to stop. And he’s losing his mind, fighting himself and everything he knows until a spit-slick finger slides down his crack. It’s suddenly too much and his hips buck up, seeking the warmth of Sammy’s mouth - Sam, Sammy, God that’s his brother down there - only to have those freakishly big hands pin him to the bed.

And he’s so close, he’s right there, but he just can’t. But the finger’s back at his crack and it’s tracing over his rim. So slowly that he shakes his head, not knowing what he wants more of and Sam’s mouth suddenly takes him deeper.

The finger breaches him just the tiniest bit as the suction around his cock increases tenfold and he’s coming down his brother’s throat on a hoarse shout. It’s seconds, minutes, before he comes back down. And by then, both Sam’s hands and mouth aren’t on him.

He looks down, terrified of what he’ll find, only to see Sam breathing just as heavily with his hand on his crotch. There’s a wet spot on his jeans and Dean groans at the sight, head dropping back down on the bed.

His brother’s literally going to be the death of him.


End file.
